A Day Late
by AnotherLiar
Summary: My mostly-canon version of what happened with Mello and Matt... but, naturally, with a whole lot of sexual tension thrown in. Lots of swearing, implied MxM, spoilers.
1. Chapter 1

The sudden buzz of the cell phone at his hip jolted Matt out of his video game coma, bringing his domination of Super Mario Bros to a grinding halt. Annoyed, the redhead paused the game and looked at his watch. Who the hell was calling him at three in the morning? He glanced at the phone: unknown number. Matt nearly tossed the phone aside in impatience, but his curiosity got the better of him.

"Lo?"

Ragged breathing, and something that sounded like a dog whimpering. "The hell?" Matt muttered to himself. Was this some sort of stalker sex call? But his number wasn't even listed…

"Matt." The voice came just as he was about to hang up. Matt brought the phone back up to his ear.

"Yeah, who is this?"

"Matt, you've gotta come pick me up. Soon."

Matt's heart thudded painfully. He hadn't heard that demanding voice in four years, but there was no mistaking it. "Mello." He leaned back against the sagging couch and stared at the cracks in the ceiling, a hundred questions rising to his lips like bile. _What the hell have you been doing, Mello? Why didn't you ever come looking for me? What, am I your last resort, the default when you get yourself in trouble? How did you find me so damn easy when I've been looking for you for four fucking years?_ But somehow, all he said was, "Where are you?"

"I'm outside the docks– take the Harbor Freeway going south. Exit 26. Two rights and a left." Mello started cursing, which turned into a coughing fit. When he next spoke, his voice was raspy. "Follow the smoke."

"The smoke?" Matt asked, already pulling on his vest. The cats scattered throughout his apartment watched his nearly-frantic motions with interest. He had no idea what was going on, but one thing was for sure: if Mello, independent, fuck-you Mello was asking Matt for help, he must have gotten himself into one hell of a mess.

"Look, just hurry up and get your ass over here," Mello said. "I don't want to be here when the fire trucks show up."

"Mello–" Matt began, grabbing the keys to his car and shutting the door to his tiny apartment, "what happened? Are you okay?"

Something like a laugh came from the cell phone pressed to Matt's ear. "No, Matt, I'm not fucking okay. I just blew up a building on myself."

Matt froze, the key halfway into the ignition. "Jesus Christ! Why did you do that?"

"Stop fucking asking questions! Get over here!" More coughing, and then the connection abruptly cut out. Matt sat in the silent car for a second, pushing aside the ever-present orange goggles he wore to rub his eyes, before snapping back to attention. The car roared to life.

Blew up a _building?_ Watch for the smoke… A smoke was what he needed, after that. Matt pulled a cigarette from his pocket and lit it one-handed, the other hand gripping the steering wheel as he went around curves at well above the speed limit. He took a deep drag and hoped the nicotine would dull his jangling nerves.

He wasn't really sure what Mello had been up to since he stormed out of Wammy's, declaring himself an orphan and second to Near no longer. No, Mello was going to go do things his own way, just like he always had… only this time, he was leaving his best friend behind. At first, Matt had tried his damnedest to track down his emotional friend, but a few Mafia run-ins had gotten the message across: Mello didn't want to be found. Matt was left to try and carve out a life in America, his birthplace but certainly not his home. The occasional bank account hack kept him safe financially, and as for social interaction– well, that's what video games were for, and he always had the cats. Matt's life wasn't perfect, but he'd gotten along well enough. And now this. Matt took another drag on the cigarette.

The car was going so fast down the empty highway that if Matt had been paying a little less attention, he'd have missed exit 26. When the sign came up he jerked the steering wheel hard to the right, slowing down only marginally to round the exit ramp. Two rights and a left… follow the smoke. He peered out the windshield and, indeed, there was a blot of darker cloud against the streetlight-orange haze. That must be where Mello was.

Matt pulled onto a rough road that was more pothole than asphalt and drove down it, smoking the cigarette for all it was worth and trying not to imagine anything too horrible that might have happened to Mello. Eventually he came to the source of the black cloud and climbed out of the car, snapping his goggles back on to protect his eyes from the acrid smoke still drifting in the air.

It looked like the stone building hadn't been in very good shape before, but now it could barely be considered a structure at all. The entire roof was missing, and great chunks of wall lay strewn about the overgrown field that surrounded it. There was no telling whether or not there was anyone hiding in the still-smoldering labyrinth. Matt drew his gun as a precaution and moved closer to the wreckage, pulling out his cell phone as he did so. If he could find Mello's number, he could use the ringtone to locate the other man. The appearance of a gun against his back short-circuited that idea.

"Drop the gun, turn around," someone hissed in his ear. Matt did as he was told, the pistol making a soft _fwump_ as it landed in the grass. He turned slowly and surveyed the figure currently pointing a gun at him. Short blonde hair in a girlish cut, tight leather clothes, combat boots, that fierce expression…

"Good, it's you," Mello said, in a tone that would have been businesslike if he hadn't winced. Matt realized that what he'd mistaken for shadow in the dim light was actually a burn, spreading from Mello's elbow across his shoulder and collarbone all the way to the left side of his face. Matt gaped.

"Mello, you're burned!" he said, which was not what he'd imagined his first words to be when he pictured their reunion.

"Thanks for reminding me," Mello said sarcastically. "Come on, let's get out of here." He tried to walk toward the car, but whatever energy he'd been drawing on thus far suddenly deserted him, and he swayed dangerously on the verge of unconsciousness. Matt caught him.

"You can't possibly make it to the car like that," he said, trying to hold Mello upright without touching the horribly puckered skin on his left side.

"I don't need you to carry me," Mello snapped, prideful as always, but Matt didn't let go.

"I'll help you walk, then." Matt slid Mello's right arm across his shoulders and cautiously wrapped his own arm around Mello's waist. Mello grimaced but didn't say anything, so Matt assumed his anger was directed at the pain and not at his presumptive body contact.

By the time they reached the car, Mello was having another coughing fit and could barely keep himself upright. _You'd think he was the one who smoked a pack a day_, thought Matt with grim humor. He opened the passenger door and helped Mello clamber inside, though the blonde refused to let him assist with the seatbelt.

"We should get you to a hospital," Matt said when they were both in the car, but predictably Mello shook his head.

"I can't go where people can see me," he rasped. "They think I'm dead, and I intend to keep it that way. I just need to rest for a little while and I'll be fine."

"You need _something_," Matt argued, not bothering for the moment to ask who 'they' were. "Those are second-degree burns at the least. I don't know how to treat something like that."

"Then you get me the meds and I'll do it myself," said Mello. "But first get me somewhere safe."

Somewhere safe… well, Matt's apartment would have to fulfill that requirement, at least for the time being. The building's security cameras didn't actually work, one of the main reasons he'd chosen it, and in the unlikely chance someone saw them coming back, Matt probably had sufficient funds to bribe them. As he pulled back onto the ramshackle road he'd driven in on, Matt turned to Mello to inquire more about the circumstances that had brought this about.

Mello was asleep, or unconscious, his labored breath making clouds on the window next to his mouth. His hands were halfhearted fists in his lap, and somehow the sheer Mello-ness of this gesture made Matt grin. Mello always tried to be tough, but under the bullying and defensiveness there was a vulnerability that only became visible in sleep. The car whizzed back along the highway as Matt continued his study of the man beside him. Some of Mello's hair appeared to have been singed away by the explosion, leaving the burn on his face exposed for the world to see. Matt had the perverse urge to touch it– or maybe he just wanted to touch Mello, to make sure he was real and not some insomnia-induced hallucination.

At the speed they were going, it was next to no time before the red car pulled back into its customary place outside Matt's apartment building. Mello still hadn't woken up, which presented a dilemma for Matt: did he wake Mello from the rest he so obviously needed, or risk trying to carry him back inside?

"Mello," he whispered. Mello's eyes twitched. "Mello, wake up." When no further response was forthcoming, Matt reached over, hesitantly shaking Mello's uninjured knee. He was rewarded by a growl of pain, but Mello shook himself out of his stupor, glaring at the world.

"Where are we?" he asked, his voice tight.

"My place," Matt said. "Don't worry, there aren't any cameras or anything. You should be able to hide here."

Mello merely grunted in response. Matt unbuckled his seat belt, then walked around to the passenger side to help Mello out. Unsteadily the pair of them made their way across the parking lot, though the front door and into the elevator. Mello sagged against the wall.

"You have meds?" he asked.

"Some," Matt responded, "but I don't think they're as strong as you need. I'll get more once we clean you up a bit." Mello nodded. Of course Matt would get what Mello needed. That was his job, after all, wasn't it? The habit had been formed far too long ago for the redhead to break it now. And, pondered Matt, thinking of the cigarettes in his pocket, he wasn't all that good at breaking habits anyway.

The cleaning-up process was painful for both of them. Matt did a quick online search on how to treat burns and was dismayed to find that for burns of this intensity, a few weeks' healing time was to be expected and a few months was not at all unusual. Mello, he knew, would barely accept invalid status for a few days. Putting aside the long-term worries for the time being, Matt set about trying to peel off Mello's leather vest.

"Lucky this thing is sleeveless," he muttered as he unzipped it, mostly to himself, because Mello's eyes had shut again. He even thought the other man might have fallen asleep. Then he tried to slide the vest off Mello's left shoulder.

"Fucking shit!" Mello yelled, jerking upright and digging his nails into Matt's wrist. Clearly, Matt had not avoided the burn well enough. "Don't fucking do that!"

"Sorry," Matt said, "but I can't put the bandages on properly when you're still wearing it." Mello looked mutinous. Matt stared him down. Eventually the blonde let go of the deathgrip he had on Matt's arm.

"Be careful," he said, gritting his teeth and swearing occasionally while the offending garment was removed. Mello's chest was bruised under the collarbone and almost as pale as Matt, but the vest had spared him getting burned anywhere but his shoulder and arm. And, of course, his face.

Matt sighed and began rinsing Mello's burns with cold water. Mello did not take kindly to being rinsed in the chipped bathtub "like one of your goddamn cats," but Matt snapped that it was that or the hose.

"Aspirin?" Mello asked when Matt gave him the pills, and it was amazing how much scorn he could fit into two syllables.

"It's not like I've got morphine lying around the house," said Matt defensively. "It's better than nothing, and it might help you sleep."

Mello tried to snort but wound up coughing again, which gave Matt the opportunity to use the spray-on antiseptic he'd found in the back of the medicine chest.

"OUCH! Fuck, Matt!"

"It stings for a few seconds," Matt explained, ex post facto. This earned him another glare, though at least Mello had refrained from grabbing him this time. The bandages he wound carefully around Mello's arm, trying to be as gentle as possible. The face he saved for last.

"I might need to tape on the bandages," he warned, his own face very close to this scarred version of Mello's.

"Just leave it," the blonde said tersely. "I want to be able to see."

"You have to put a bandage on it," began Matt, but Mello had already gotten unsteadily to his feet.

"Either direct me to a bed or I'll find one myself."

"Here, I'll show you," said Matt, exasperated. He'd forgotten how stubborn Mello could be. They were a good third of the way down the hall before Mello accepted his assistance in walking, and then only because he'd stopped to have another coughing fit. Matt mentally resigned himself, among other things, to sleeping on the couch, and he helped Mello sit down on his bed. A calico cat was preening itself on the windowsill beside it.

"When did you become a cat lady?" Mello asked, kicking off his boots, but before Matt could even come up with a witty reply, he had collapsed onto the pillow and was asleep.


	2. Chapter 2

The first thing Mello was aware of upon waking was heat. One kind of heat was his face _it was burning his face_ and made him want to rip off his own skin just to make the pain stop. The other…

He opened his right eye. A cat was lying in a furry ball next to his bare stomach, watching him with bright green eyes and twitching its tail reflectively. When it saw he was awake, the cat butted its head against Mello's hand.

How strange. Mello sat up and carefully opened his other eye, which hurt like the fires of hell but which he could still see out of with relative clarity. The cat unfurled itself as well and nudged his hand again, more insistently this time. "What do you want?" Mello growled at it. The cat gave him a reproachful look and batted at his wrist. "I don't have any food," said Mello. "Go bother Matt to feed you. And make him get me some chocolate while you're at it." Contrarily, the cat climbed into his lap, curled up, and appeared to go back to sleep.

"Useless fleabag," Mello muttered.

"Mello?" said a voice from outside his room. His muscles tensed automatically, which reminded him that he had, after all, been blown up yesterday. Everything hurt. A pair of orange-goggled eyes appeared in the doorway. "You're awake," said Matt.

"Obviously," responded Mello. His erstwhile friend nudged the door fully open and walked in, flipping the light on with one hand while with the other he held out a pristinely wrapped bar labeled Hershey's. Mello snatched it from his hand.

"I figured you'd want that," said Matt dryly over the _snap_ of chocolate breaking in Mello's teeth. God, that tasted good. Not even high-quality chocolate, and already the pain from his face and shoulder seemed to be subsiding. Matt sat down gingerly on the end of the bed, shoving the goggles into his hair, and Mello surveyed him as he ate.

Four years hadn't made much of a difference. True, Matt's shoulders were broader now, and he no longer had the half-starved look of the gangly fifteen-year-old he'd been last time Mello saw him, but his hair was the same dark red it had been then, if a few inches longer, and his eyes (when he wasn't wearing those ridiculous goggles) were the same shade of green. The same color as the cat's, in fact. Mello smirked to himself. The cats were a surprise.

"Your burn looks better," said Matt, watching Mello's face, and Mello had the uncomfortable thought that the same sorts of reminiscences were going through Matt's mind. He hated to think how he must now appear: burnt, scarred, deformed. Mello snapped off another bite of chocolate and looked away.

"I think the cat's hungry," he said, to stop Matt staring at him like he was.

"Who, Moxie?" Matt said, and the cat in Mello's lap perked its head up. "I just fed her an hour ago."

"Well, she keeps hitting me like she wants something," Mello began, but trailed off as the cat– Moxie, what a weird name– made the same insistent gesture against Matt's hand. The redhead gave a low chuckle and started scratching her behind the ears. Moxie closed her eyes in contentment, and Mello could feel her purring.

"You're a little attention whore," Matt said to the cat. Mello raised his eyebrows and immediately wished he hadn't… but it was bizarre, hearing that much affection in Matt's usually careless voice. Matt didn't care about things, except maybe his video games. Had that changed too?

"So Mello…" Matt began, the shadow of a familiar grin on his face. "You have some explaining to do."

The vision of a small, ghostly white figure putting puzzle pieces together flashed across Mello's mind, and his hands balled into fists. "It's all Near's fault," he growled. "If he'd've left me alone–"

"Near's here too?" Matt interrupted.

"Of course he is," said Mello. Just hearing the name sent a jolt of angry energy down Mello's legs, and he tossed the quilt aside, ignoring the cat's protests as he began pacing the small room. "Even here I can't get away from him. He's looking for Kira too. He formed some organization for it here in America– the SPK, he called it, but once we got the notebook I took care of–"

"The what?"

Mello had forgotten, in the heat of the moment, all that Matt didn't know. Quickly he explained the Death Note, which would kill anyone whose name was written in it as long as the writer knew their face, and his own plan to acquire it from the Japanese police force who had gotten it shortly before L's death. Matt sat quietly, frowning slightly as he did whenever he concentrated hard on something, and took in the story: Mello's kidnapping the director of the Japanese police, and when he committed suicide, the daughter of deputy director Yagami. The look on Matt's face didn't change, even when Mello told him of the shinigami that had come to claim the notebook and foiled a raid on the hideout. Then…

"Kira," Mello spat. "Somehow he found out where I was. Yesterday all my men collapsed at once, all from heart attacks." Strangely enough, it was _this_ that got a reaction from Matt, though not much of one: at the words "all my men," his eyes, which had been steadily fixed on Mello's blue ones, flicked away. Mello saved this for later analysis and pressed on. "The NPA decided to attack at the same time. Convenient, really, and it put me in a hell of a spot. They got the notebook back, and when Yagami–" He stopped, swayed; Matt stood up to catch him but Mello couldn't even marshal the strength to glare at him under the numb shock of memory.

"My name," he choked. _Your real name– it's Mihael Keehl_. "Matt– they know my name."


	3. Chapter 3

_Thanks for all the reviews and faves, guys! They definitely made me work harder to get this chapter finished. It's still kind of short, I know, but the next one will be extra-long to make up for it._

_Characters: not mine._

--

It was frightening, watching Mello's composure shatter, but it was equally frightening to watch him wrench it back into place. His next words were not panicked, but icily resolved.

"Soichiro Yagami can kill me," he said.

"Better hope he likes you," Matt responded, ignoring the shudder that went through him at Mello's tone. It wasn't like him to take death so calmly– but then again, there wasn't anything he could do. If what he said about the Death Note was true, and Yagami wrote down Mello's real name, he would die. And Mello was undoubtedly smart enough to know that.

"Better hope he really died, you mean. I didn't have time to check after Jose shot him." Matt wondered, again, about the people Mello had been spending the last four years of his life with, accompanied by the same absurd twinge of anger he'd felt when Mello referred to "his men." Then he shook himself. There were much more pressing things to be worrying about.

"If Yagami is dead, I should be all right," continued Mello, mostly to himself. "I didn't let any of the others see my face." Matt could almost see the plans and analyses whirring in Mello's brain. As for Matt himself, his main plan revolved around getting Mello to eat something that wasn't chocolate, and maybe retying the loose bandage currently trailing down Mello's back. He supposed that was why Mello was second and he was third.

"Well then, if you suddenly collapse, I know who to blame," said Matt flippantly, trying to lighten the mood. "Want some lunch?" Mello waved the remains of the chocolate bar in his hand. "Real lunch, I mean."

"I have to think," Mello said.

"You can think and eat at the same time."

At this point, Moxie took the opportunity to headbutt Mello in the knees. He jumped. "What the fuck, Matt. Your cat is psychotic."

Matt snickered. "That must be why she likes you," he said.

"Well I don't like her," Mello replied, but Matt could tell he was lying. Maybe Mello didn't have quite the soft spot Matt did for abandoned kittens, but who could resist Moxie's big green eyes and silky soft fur?

"I'm making you a sandwich," Matt announced, and though he grumbled to himself the whole time, Mello followed him into the kitchen. It was only after Mello asked where exactly he was supposed to sit that Matt realized the state of his apartment.

"Messy" wasn't exactly the right word, because that implied an overflow of clutter and useless objects, but "Spartan" was also wrong, because there was a severe lack of organization in Matt's few possessions. The chair next to the small kitchen table was occupied by a stack of papers, while the worn-down couch across the room had laptops on the cushions and wires trailing across the floor.

"Oh," said Matt. He grabbed the stack off the chair– newspapers and spam mail, mostly, but with a worksheet of useful hacks and a few data printouts looking for some gangster named _Mello– _and put it on the counter. Mello sat down on the newly-vacated chair, arrogant even covered in bandages and with no shirt on, and gave Matt the look that meant "I'm waiting."

Matt slid easily back into the role that, for a long time, had simply been the way life was for him. Doing things for Mello was so ingrained that he didn't even think to be resentful until the mustard he was spreading on a piece of cheap white bread burned into a paper cut he hadn't known he had. With a perfunctory curse, Matt stuck his finger in his mouth to lick off the mustard, unconcerned about the pain but amused and exasperated that he should once again be feeling it for Mello's sake. Hadn't these past four years been time enough to break that habit, even if being deprived of the blonde's mischief had led him to pick up that first lung-searing cigarette? Addictions, it seemed, could be replaced, but never lost.

"Cut that out," Mello snapped from behind him.

"Mluh?" said Matt, his finger still tucked absently into his mouth.

"Stop sucking on your finger," said Mello, in a weirdly strained voice. Matt reflected that his throat was probably still raw from smoke inhalation. "You're going to get your spit in my sandwich."

"That's what you get for not tipping me," Matt replied, but he wiped his finger on the striped shirt he was wearing and was careful not to touch it to the bread as he finished arranging the salami. He slid the plate across the table and pulled out a cigarette for himself.

"Matt," said Mello warningly. Matt blew smoke at him.

"What? I stayed up all night to make sure you weren't dead; I deserve a break."

"So now you're aiming to kill me with secondhand smoke," muttered the blonde around a mouthful of sandwich. Matt ignored him and took another long drag. The nicotine pleasantly dulled his nerves and allowed him to think, for a while at least, that things were going okay.

"When you're done, we need to change that bandage of yours," said Matt presently. Mello glared.

"Since when do you give the orders, _Matt_?" growled Mello, and for the first time Matt could fully understand how he'd gotten to the top of the Mafia. But _he_ remembered the little blonde boy who'd been too scared to sleep for the first week at Whammy's.

"Since you blew yourself up and showed up here." Matt slid the goggles over his eyes and stared down an orange-tinted and extremely angry Mello. He was glad he'd safely hidden Mello's gun; the other man's fingers were twitching. "It's not like I'm trying to tie you down and rob you, Mello," said the redhead, exasperated. "You know as well as I do that you can't ignore that burn, and the bandages are supposed to be changed every few hours anyway."

"I'll do it myself," Mello bit out.

"Like to see that," Matt muttered. Mello tried to glower, but the twist of his face caused him to let out a low hiss of pain. Matt moved forward involuntarily.

"Did you get better pain meds?" Mello asked, trying to sound nonchalant and tough. Matt pulled the bottle of pills he'd recently bought out of the grocery bag on the counter and tossed it to Mello, who caught it deftly. "And the chocolate," Mello added. Matt rolled his eyes and threw him another chocolate bar. Mello unwrapped it and loudly snapped off a chunk, his teeth bared in a manic grin. The chocolate disappeared in less than a minute, and Matt announced that the time for medical treatment had arrived.

"Am I going to get a shirt this time?" inquired Mello acidly as Matt finished removing the loose bandage. The skin underneath was a raw, puckered pink, but it didn't look like it was infected. Matt's fingertips hovered all along the burn, wanting to touch it and make sure but afraid of hurting Mello.

"I'd advise against it," Matt replied. He sprayed more antiseptic on the broken skin, just to be safe, and due to the aforementioned lack of shirt he could actually _see_ Mello clenching his muscles to resist the sting. To the former gangster's credit, he did not cry out, even to curse. As Matt taped on a new set of bandages, Mello did something completely unexpected: he yawned.

"Are you tired?" asked Matt in surprise. What he meant was, _You're showing that you're tired?_

"It's the medicine," Mello said peevishly, followed almost immediately by another yawn that he tried (and failed) to swallow. He looked so much like the cats that it was difficult for Matt to suppress his giggle.

"Shut up, Matt."

"You're funny when you're tired. Remember how you used to sneak out of your room in the middle of the night and–"

"I remember." The chill in his voice immediately cut off Matt's reminiscence, the words dying before they could be said. Of course, Mello probably didn't want to be reminded of his childhood escapades. He'd been doing important things, making a name for himself, trying to catch Kira. What good were memories when you had the Mafia at your disposal? "I'm going to get some sleep," the blonde continued tonelessly, and without even bothering to ask he walked into Matt's bedroom and curled up in Matt's bed.

This was about what he'd expected, Matt reminded himself, but he still felt like he'd just had a door slammed in his face. Almost instinctively he reached for a cigarette, only to remember that they were still sitting on the counter in the kitchen, many feet away. Oh, well. He pulled the Nintendo DS out of his back pocket and turned it on. Video games worked too.

A few levels later, Matt noticed a calico tail disappearing into the bedroom. He crept in after it and, once he'd determined that Mello was safely asleep, sat in his computer chair. Moxie watched him out of the semi-darkness. He couldn't help but notice that she was standing on Mello's stomach.

"You're a guard cat now?" Matt whispered sarcastically. Moxie turned around a few times and then settled into her favorite curled-up sleeping position, still watching Matt.

"He's not going to like you guarding him," Matt said matter-of-factly. "Mello takes care of himself, you know." Moxie huffed.

"_I_ know that. But he thinks he can, and that's what matters."

A twitch of the ear.

"He won't let you. That's like admitting weakness. Mello's not weak."

Moxie's eyes glowed eerily in the gloom, unblinking. Matt sighed.

"Then I guess we'll have to look out for him anyway, won't we?"


	4. Chapter 4

Some actual plot in this one. Characters and some bits of dialogue belong to Ohba and Obata.

That damn cat was on his stomach _again_. Mello tried to will himself back to sleep, into that comfortable empty place where there was no Kira and no Near and no used-to-be best friend bringing up things better left forgotten and most of all, no _cats_. It didn't work.

"Ugh," said Mello eloquently, and began to shove the furry creature away from him. Moxie gave him a forlorn look, and Mello was forced again to notice how familiarly green her eyes were. This was a fucking _guilt_ trip, that's what it was. Well, he wasn't going to stand for it.

"Get off." He made sure to toss the quilt on top of the cat as he shimmied out of the bed, idly hoping it would suffocate. There was a noise to his left. Mello's hand reached automatically for a gun that wasn't there, in too-loose pants that weren't his.

But of course it was only Matt. Mello wondered how anyone could fall asleep wearing goggles with their head on a laptop, but it didn't seem to be a problem for Matt, who had apparently been gaming before he'd fallen asleep: the noise Mello had heard was Matt's DS falling out of his pocket. He wondered what the gamer was doing here. It was technically his room, Mello supposed, but surely the couch would be preferable to a swivel chair that didn't even have armrests.

Unimportant. Matt was asleep, and Mello needed chocolate. He closed the door gingerly behind him and made for the kitchen, where the grocery bag was still sitting on the counter. Mello fished around inside. Bananas, some cans of tomato soup, a bottle of painkillers (and with the way his shoulder was feeling Mello would _definitely_ be needing those later), and finally, in a despicably indifferent heap at the bottom, the chocolate Mello sought. He took out three bars and unwrapped one immediately, shoving the other two into the waistband of his borrowed pants for later. He'd have to get some decent clothes at some point.

Mello desperately wanted to use the laptop on the table, but he knew his own rudimentary hacking skills were no match for Matt's impenetrable security systems. He settled instead for turning on the television. After a commercial for asthma drugs, the program began again. It seemed to be a press conference of some kind.

"The President of the United States," said the announcer, and Mello leaned forward. He snapped off a piece of chocolate with his teeth.

This new president was ugly, thought Mello, remembering the man he'd blackmailed with the Death Note. David Hoope was dead now, at his own hand; the sweating man with small frightened eyes had been his vice president. He began to speak, and seemed to stammer at the flashes of cameras. In his slow Southern accent he managed to say, "The United States of America will no longer oppose Kira."

"_WHAT_?" yelled Mello. The reporters at the press conference were in a similar uproar.

"Does this mean you think Kira is justice?"

"Whose decision was this?"

The president babbled something about the Mafia being obliterated. Mello knew that all too well. But how could this fool think that submitting to Kira would make the world a better place?

"You fucking _coward_!" Mello told the man on the television. It was all he could do not to crush the remainder of his chocolate bar. But the president kept talking.

"We also plan to officially dissolve the organization known as the SPK, which the former president created to capture Kira, in keeping with this new policy."

Mello froze. What would happen to Near now? Moreover, why would the president announce the dissolution of something that barely anyone knew existed in the first place? This had "Near" written all over it. What the hell was going on?

"Matt!" he shouted, going back to the bedroom, but the redhead had disappeared. Mello barely had time to register that Moxie had not, in fact, suffocated, and was now happily batting at a stray wire, when a door opened behind him.

"What?" said Matt. Mello turned around.

Well, he hadn't been expecting Matt to only be wearing a towel, and it was kind of surprising how muscular he'd turned out to be with only video games for exercise, but Mello put those thoughts out of his mind. "You have to hack the SPK," he said. "Look–" and he gestured toward the television, but of course it had gone back to commercials.

"I don't see how Near relates to the special at Applebee's, but okay," Matt said.

"Not the commercial, dumbass," snapped Mello. Matt grinned and shook his hair so Mello was spattered with water. "Cut that out. The _president_, Matt, the president of the United fucking States just went on TV and told everyone that they're giving into Kira."

"They're _what_?" Matt yelped.

"_And_," Mello said, "they just said they were going to dissolve the SPK."

A pause. "Well, fuck me," said Matt simply. "What was Near thinking?"

Mello almost smiled when he saw that Matt had come to the same conclusion he had. It had been entirely too long since he'd been around people that didn't need everything explained to them. "That's what we've got to find out, then," he said, with enough irritation to remind Matt whose orders he was supposed to be following. The redhead stood there a minute longer, watching the television contemplatively.

"Guess I'd better put some clothes on," he said.

Ten minutes later, Matt, now wearing skinny jeans and a T-shirt with an incomprehensible picture on it, was slouched over one of the shinier laptops, typing in passwords and receiving popup messages in an elaborate language that Mello couldn't hope to follow. The images on the screen reflected off the orange goggles, which suddenly showed a huge series of folders.

"Here we go," said Matt. "Special Provision for Kira, created by blah blah blah… received files from previous head investigator, L… what exactly do you want to know, Mello?"

"Where they are," said Mello. He hesitated for a fraction of a second. "And see if they have a Halle Lidner listed there."

Matt typed something else and double-clicked. "Headquarters in New York, unlisted address," he said. "That Halle chick is working for them, all right. Hm, she's pretty hot," he added, and Mello saw a small picture of a blond woman with icy blue eyes appear on the screen.

"Get your mind out of the gutter," he ordered. "Let me see that." He leaned over Matt's shoulder and tilted the laptop toward himself. Lidner's profile was as thorough as he could have wished and even, to his astonishment and delight, contained her home address. Mello had met her once before, and she seemed to like him; she'd be easy to pump for information.

"Perfect," he said to himself. "Matt, what did–"

He hadn't realized how close they were, both staring at the laptop screen, so close that when Mello turned his head their noses nearly collided, nor had he noticed that Matt had pushed the orange goggles into his still-wet hair. For one improbable second he was caught by Matt's eyes, shockingly green next to his pale blue. A lone drop of water fell from one of the dark red strands of hair.

"My gun," Mello said, regaining his train of thought as he straightened up. He had to keep a tighter rein on himself; he couldn't afford to space out like that when he talked to Near. "What did you do with it?"

"Why do you need it?" the other man asked warily.

"I'm going to New York," said Mello, with the air of one stating the obvious. "I want my clothes back, too."

"It'll take a while to pack," mused Matt.

"Not for someone with only one outfit to their name."

Matt regarded him coolly. "I meant for me."

Mello blinked, then put on his best aloof boss demeanor. "You're not coming."

"Yes, I am."

Matt said this with his usual indifferent tone, but Mello knew how stubborn he could get when he wanted something badly enough. The idiot, couldn't he see that this was something better done by Mello alone? Matt had never cared about beating anyone at anything; this battle with Near didn't concern him. "I'm just going to find out what Near knows. I'll be back."

"I don't have four more years, Mello." At some point the goggles had gone back over Matt's eyes, hiding whatever emotion could be faintly detected in his voice. "And frankly, I doubt you do either."

Mello's eyes narrowed. That was a low blow. But, now he thought of it, Matt's hacking skills might come in handy while they were there, and a trip to New York wasn't worth the argument. It was always a good idea to have backup in case it came to a fight.

"Fine," he said with poor grace. "If you're not packed by tomorrow, I'm leaving you here."

"I can do you one better," Matt said, scanning the screen of the laptop. "Says they've got a flight from LAX to Newark at ten tonight."

Mello bit off another piece of chocolate with his trademark maniacal grin. "I'll pack the guns."

Five hours later, the plane departed for the city that never sleeps.


	5. Chapter 5

_Thank you all again for the reviews! I'm sorry this one took such a long time, but at least you get your money's worth, right? Most of the dialogue comes from the manga volume 9, and is therefore of dubious ownership, since I had to change pieces of it to fit my English-speaking sensibilities. _

_Characters (c) Ohba and Obata_

* * *

Mello didn't like New York. He'd quickly learned, on previous Mafia business, that the gangs in NYC didn't put much stock in reputation, particularly when said reputation came from California. Getting things done had basically involved starting from scratch– only with considerably more firepower to back him up. And now, everyone assumed he was dead, so if he wanted to use any Mafia resources he'd have to establish himself a _third_ time. Not at all worth it.

On the plus side, New York had an extensive selection of leather clothing.

Another more pressing reason to hate the city was the subway Mello was currently taking to Halle Lidner's apartment. For all that New Yorkers claimed to be jaded, his scar was raw enough to draw the attention of nearly everyone in the train, particularly in conjunction with the tight leather outfit and fur-lined coat. A woman sitting across from him kept shooting nervous glances at her children like she expected him to attack them. Mello glared at her.

When the train got to the station, everyone else waited for Mello to exit before jamming themselves out the doors like lemmings. Mello smirked. At least _these_ people understood that he was not to be trifled with.

A flash of red hair caught Mello off guard. Hadn't he _specifically_ told Matt to stay at the hotel and monitor things for him? Angrily he strode toward the perpetrator– but it wasn't Matt. Seeing him up close, Mello couldn't fathom why he had confused them. This boy couldn't be older than fourteen; Matt was definitely taller than that now. But something in the way the stranger was bent possessively over his cell phone reminded Mello of watching Matt play video games for hours on end. This nameless boy was Matt in the past tense.

And, Mello reminded himself, the thing about the past was that it was _over_. The boy was about to look up and see him staring and goddamn it, he had a job to do. He spun on one booted heel and strode up the stairs into the biting November air.

Hal's apartment was shamefully easy to get into. Hardly a two-minute lock, and no alarm inside to back it up. She might as well have invited Mello in. He flexed his fingers inside their leather gloves and performed a quick search of the place. Why hadn't Near installed cameras here? Was he so concerned about the privacy– or, Mello scoffed, the _virtue_ of his employees? Of course not. This oversight was probably the work of some overly chivalrous underling. He took a bite of chocolate.

Footsteps from the hall. Mello pulled out his gun and stood next to the door, patiently waiting as Hal unlocked the door and entered. He saw the sheen of her blonde hair and aimed at it, waiting for her to notice– then, unexpectedly, she turned to look at him with a finger to her lips.

Well, this was different. Mello raised his gun slightly to indicate that he wasn't going to shoot her just yet, and Hal pulled something off her coat collar.

"Near, I want to take a shower, so I'm taking the wire off for a while," she said. Mello was slightly put out by how calm and unconcerned she sounded. Soundlessly he followed her into the bathroom, his gun still pointing at her back. She turned on the water.

"That's really not necessary," said Hal, turning to face him and gesturing at the gun. "I'm not going to try anything."

"A precaution," Mello said. "How did you know I was here?"

Hal shrugged, smiling slightly, and began to unbutton her blouse. Mello raised his eyebrows.

"What are you doing?"

"I wasn't kidding when I said I wanted a shower," she replied, though the look she gave him implied that any other clothesless activities would be fine by her. Hal turned around modestly to take off her bra and panties, and Mello rolled his eyes. He couldn't stand women who threw themselves at you.

"Near guessed you'd try and contact me," Hal continued, stepping into the shower. "He thought I'd be your choice, since I'm the only woman, but I don't think he knew we'd met."

"Of course Near would think that way," Mello muttered. With Hal in the shower, he let the hand holding the gun drop to his side and took another bite of chocolate.

"You're stuck now, aren't you?" said Hal. "You lost your notebook, so you can't control me. All you can do is threaten me with that gun. If you shot me, you'd be easy to find. And they're about to put cameras in my rooms…"

About time, Mello thought, though it did make life more difficult for him. Hal gave him a sidelong glance.

"So what are you going to do, Mello? Live in the bathroom?" She laughed. "I wouldn't mind. I like having you around."

You're a goddamn whore, you mean, Mello thought contemptuously. Instead he said, "That's not what I came for."

"Oh, I know." How long could it possibly take to wash your legs? Hal seemed to be quite preoccupied with her bending over and running her hands up and down. "By the way," she added casually, "Near thinks the new L is Kira."

"L?" Mello gasped. Yagami had told him the new L was nothing but a figurehead– Touta Matsuda, an idiot. No real threat. Dammit, what was going on? Could the new L be Kira? He supposed it was possible. The sound of the water cut off.

"So what are you going to do?" Hal repeated as she wrapped herself in a towel.

Mello considered her as he leaned against the wall. Certainly Hal wouldn't object to a quick fuck, but that would be both inadvisable and a waste of time. He knew she'd told him everything important, or at least everything Near had instructed her to say, and sex wasn't likely to get anything more out of her. At this point, any kind of relationship– with anyone, but most of all with a member of the SPK– was just begging for problems he didn't need.

"Whose side are you on, then?" he growled. "Mine or Near's?"

"I told you last week, didn't I?" Hal responded as she toweled her hair. "I'm not on any side. I want to catch Kira. We all do."

Catch Kira. Beat Near. Sometimes it was hard to tell which came first.

"Are you going to leave? If you run off, I'll tell Near I met you hiding in my bathroom," Hal warned. "Or would you rather meet somewhere later?"

Again with the suggestive looks. It would almost be worth tipping his hand to Near to get rid of this obnoxious woman. Perhaps sensing his indecision, Hal added, "Oh, and by the way… You were really cute as a kid."

"What?" The gun snapped up to her temple almost without conscious instruction on Mello's part. As a child– but there was no way she could have– had he missed a picture when he cleared Wammy's of any trace that Mihael Keehl had once lived there?

"Near has the picture," she said as though responding to his thoughts. "The only photo of you he could find, he said. He's taken care of everyone from that orphanage too."

No, _Mello_ had taken care of everyone from the orphanage. And yet somehow, Mello had allowed himself to be beaten even at that simple task. He ground his teeth. He needed that picture, and Near knew it.

"Go back to headquarters," he instructed. Hal looked confused.

"I was just there; there's no reason for me to–"

"Make one up," Mello growled, pointing the gun at her face. "Go back."

"Okay, okay, Jesus. Stop pointing that thing at me."

Mello could have guessed which building housed the SPK, but he let Hal lead him in. It was easier to keep his gun on her then, anyway. Both their footsteps echoed in the empty white halls as they made their way toward the center of the labyrinth.

Hal tapped out a security code on the wall, and an imposing metallic door slid open. Mello took a quick survey. The walls were covered in video screens, mostly showing the empty building. Beside him was a screened-off portion of the room with a computer and several monitors. Then, of course, there were the two men, one small and dark, one burly and blonde, but both pointing guns at him. Mello ignored them. The only thing his attention was drawn to was a head of curly white hair, crouched on the floor and surrounded by toy robots. Mello's lip curled in a silent snarl.

"Welcome, Mello."

"Drop your gun!" yelled the brawny one. Former army grunt, no doubt. Mello didn't move.

"That goes for all of you," droned Near. His disinterested wispy voice was exactly the way Mello remembered it, and it still made his blood boil. "It would be quite useless to shed blood here."

"But Near, he killed the SPK!" complained the smaller man with the black hair. "And he kidnapped the Japanese director, and killed him too–"

"We have no proof of that, and it was probably Kira who killed the director," Near replied. "But that's not important. I will not repeat myself, Gevanni; our goal is to catch Kira, not Mello. He managed to get the notebook, and in doing so came closer to Kira than any of us. Let's respect that, shall we?"

The two men slowly lowered their weapons, both looking as though it cost them dearly. After a moment, Mello took his gun from Hal's head.

"Well said, Near," he said. _At least the albino admits that I beat him so far– not that I expect him to take that sitting down. Crouching on the floor, rather._ "So everything's going as you imagined?" he sneered.

"Yes," Near said simply, without turning around. "Though I have to say, I didn't expect you to come all the way here. Thanks to you…" and Mello could hear the almost imperceptible smirk that would be creeping onto Near's face just now "… I have been able to greatly narrow down my list of possible Kira suspects."

"You­–Damn it, Near!" Mello flew into a rage, his gun shakily pointing at Near's dull white form. "I didn't do it for you! I'm not some tool to be used in your fucking puzzles!"

There was a clatter as the other two got their own weapons back up. "Commander Rester," Near said, as casually as if he discussed the weather. "Don't make me repeat myself. Please lower your gun." None of them moved. Mello's finger itched on the trigger. "Mello," continued Near, "if you want to shoot me, shoot."

_He can't be serious!_ Mello thought. To be rid of that horrible voice, that emotionless face with the judging eyes that were like L's and yet so much worse, and the knowledge that no matter what Mello did it would never _quite_ be good enough… He tightened his grip.

Suddenly Hal was there, pointing the gun at her own chest. "If you kill him, it won't mean anything even if you do catch Kira," she said in a low voice. "If you shoot Near, we'll have no choice but to shoot you. And then Kira wins. It would all be for nothing."

A pause. Mello almost thought it would be worth it to die, if only he could take that smug bastard down with him…

_"I'm only letting you go alone if you promise you'll come back once you've got the picture."_

_"I can take care of myself, Matt. Don't be such a pussy."_

_"Promise."_

_"Ugh! I _promise_. Now for fuck's sake, stay here and do something useful."_

Whatever else could be said of his morals, Mello kept his promises. He lowered his gun with a mirthless chuckle. "She's right. I only came for my photo."

"Yes." Near held up a small bit of paper, pinched between two fingers. "This is the only remaining photograph. There are no copies. And the cameras here only monitor, not record." He flipped the photo through the air, and Mello deftly caught it. "I contacted everyone at Wammy's who knows your face. It's not one hundred percent certain, but you should be safe from the notebook."

Mello looked at the picture of his younger self, unscarred, at least on the outside. He flipped it over, surprised to find something written there. _Dear Mello_.

He recognized the neat printing– it had always covered the papers that had gotten slightly higher marks than his. So Near knew he'd get the picture back eventually. Come to that, Near had probably anticipated Hal giving Mello the SPK's information.

"I'm not gonna team up with you," Mello began.

"I had not anticipated that you would," Near answered, still playing with his toys.

"But I can't take this photo without giving you something in return." That, and Mello would never lose an opportunity to rub Near's face in the fact that he knew something the other boy didn't. "The Death Note… It's a shinigami's notebook. People who touch the notebook can see the shinigami."

"Impossible," blustered Commander Rester behind him. Mello had almost forgotten the two lackeys, despite the guns they were probably pointing at him.

"Who's going to believe that?" threw in the dark one. "A shinigami? Come on…"

"I believe him."

Near's tone brooked no argument. Mello, for all he didn't care about Near or his men, was perversely grateful. "What would Mello have to gain from such an outlandish story?" Near continued. "If he was going to lie to us, he would make it something believable. Therefore, shinigami exist."

"The notebook I had belonged to a shinigami named Sidoh," Mello put in. "He dropped it in the human world, and came to get it back. But it had belonged to another shinigami first."

"And we know that because of the rules written in the front of the notebook, do we not?" Near mused. "How odd that the shinigami would write rules for human use if he wanted to get it back."

"One more thing…" Mello said, turning away. He grinned. "One of the rules is fake. But that's all I'm saying."

The two of them waited, facing opposite directions, one standing and one sitting. The silence stretched to the breaking point.

"Near."

"Mello."

"Which of us will get to Kira first, I wonder?" said Mello. He took a bite of chocolate.

"We're both headed for the same place," came the reply. For the first time, Near's voice held some emotion, though he spoke as quietly as ever. "The race is on."

Mello smirked as he left the room. "I'll be waiting for you."


End file.
